


Counterclockwise

by LegendofMajora



Series: Clockwork [3]
Category: Durarara!!
Genre: Angst, Eventual Romance, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mild Language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-07
Updated: 2015-02-12
Packaged: 2018-02-28 11:44:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2731238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LegendofMajora/pseuds/LegendofMajora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Time is the measure of soft breaths rumbling with drowsy pulses of sleep and counting the seconds it takes to count down to forgetting what enemies are supposed to be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Counting Down

Damn it.

Why can't the fucking flea pick up the phone? It's been days since (Shizuo's not sure why he's doing this in the first place) he's last seen Izaya and even longer when he hasn't been unconscious and or delirious. He knows for a fact that Izaya's phone is on, hearing it ring all the times he's called with the reason that this is the last call. But the louse never picks up.

It's not like he worries: Shizuo hates the flea more than beyond imaginable. Izaya's a mess and when Shizuo finds him days ago after a strange misplaced phone call—why else would the flea call him—it's a suspicion that the idiot's up to no good, again. If it takes passing out on the floor in his own vomit (that was disgusting) for Shizuo to show up at the stupid flea's door, then the shit has some high standards. Since when is it that Shizuo becomes Izaya's personal servant? Like a first aid kit when he's not feeling as sinister as always? What does it mean then if Shizuo doesn't show up and the idiot has to pick up the pieces of whatever falls away first, only to reveal how much of a monster he is? A blood-sucking parasite with little brain and more bite. A stupid smile only makes the humiliation of losing control worse.

So ignoring Shizuo isn't the best thing the shitty flea can do. Unless, of course, he's doing it purposely, which means he wins the whole fucking lottery. Because damn it, Shizuo will tear out his own throat with blunt fingernails if he dares to admit that a part of him thinks (not worries) about if the flea is still alive. He believes it's because he wants to kill the shit anyway, so not trying to censor his thoughts running rampant, he calls. Doesn't care if Izaya is busy sleeping or dying in a ditch, he just has this itch crawling and squirming under his skin to know why Izaya's not bothering him like the flea usually does. Twenty-two calls now, picking up from the total of twenty yesterday and one this morning and before noon. This isn't like Izaya. It's normal for him to pick up, especially in the mornings when Shizuo knows Izaya never sleeps in. Not answering the charity calling—is that what this is now—means Izaya's playing mind games again—something's _wrong—_ which isn't something to concern himself with.

His number is in Shizuo's fingers, tapping out by muscle memory not attached to his brain for if he thinks, he loses. It's the only number Shizuo knows out of over ten cellphones he's ever seen in Izaya's fingers, bloodstained or not. What he doesn't quite know is that the number he has is the only contact in the phone he's calling. Which he dials, unaware of what's going on around him and with an early day from work, he has the time to be left to his thoughts. Thoughts mean pressing the call button—too late to turn back now.

 _Ring._ "Pick up, damn flea." Lighting up, Shizuo's teeth grind together. His fingers grapple for his cigarette, as if crushing the barriers of coherency with the twisted thoughts. He feels like a dog, doing this like a lost puppy or an older gnarled mutt lying in a shrine of lies. Izaya calls himself a god and the irony is so prevalent Shizuo almost doesn't realize the joke. His lips curl in a snarl, either way while he nearly snaps his cigarette for not burning his tongue fast enough. It's tempting to stick the burning end in his head to silence the whirling thoughts that move too quickly to count time.

 _Ring._ What is he doing that's so important? It's only morning, so there's no way he's that busy. Wait—why does he care, again? Pick up, damn it. This isn't fair to play a game like this where Izaya is controlling his thoughts instead of his anger. Well, that too but the bastard doesn't even realize he is. Not like he should know, anyway, when the problem is overwhelming enough to crush a cigarette and taste the bitter tobacco without a flinch. If his tongue is burning, it's not enough to engrave how much he wants to stop thinking about this.

 _Ring._ Hands and fingers pull, not going anywhere and he's still _thinking—remembering—_ this is pointless and why can't he ignore it? What's so important about the damn flea getting sick when it serves the bastard right? It twists in his gut—"Hurry up, you damn bastard."-he's not worried or nervous or _anything._ Fucking annoyed, is all. Just too fucking bothered by the fact the flea hasn't been in Ikebukuro or pissing off Shizuo for a suspicious amount of time. Why he'd choose to take a sudden vacation isn't Shizuo's business. He doesn't like what Izaya's up to, anyway.

_The number you are trying to reach—_

"I-za-ya!" The ground trembles, quaking in nervous fear and the people once around Shizuo are quickly spreading. They don't realize just exactly how shitty his day is becoming when they're not the ones dealing with the flea that's going to ruin their lives anyway. Of course they don't see the same idiot, lying on the floor in a pool of his own disgusting vomit and completely unlike himself, helpless and scratching and next to screaming when some help actually tries to get to him. No; he's ungrateful even when sicker than he realizes and that's why when Shizuo helps the flea onto his couch, he counts it as a favor of proving Izaya wrong in the game they're still playing. What's new is the new rules—don't kill the weak ones—and Izaya doesn't realize he applies when he's still struggling for air the moment he wakes up. But this is several days ago, and right now is calling a number Shizuo's not even sure _works_ yet he keeps trying because it's the number that called him, with Izaya's voice that doesn't sound like him and gasping his name like he's going to die. All with the full intention of going to beat up the little shit he decides to humor Izaya until Shizuo arrives.

(Shizuo doesn't know that he's the only one who knows where Izaya lives. Izaya didn't, either.)

So what if he helps the flea up, unmoving and pale as death that only Shizuo can bring (as much as he'd rather not, but no one should know) to him? The last he remembers is Izaya flailing before...before... Before _that,_ which is exactly what contorts Shizuo's angry resolve and his face only expresses a pressed frown because he knows what he's done and what he's doing now, which is heading to the station. Maybe he's speed walking or just wants to kick Izaya's smarmy ass and get it over with so he can stop the images from circulating in his head as if they're not a basic response to whatever is wrong with Izaya. He remembers just relying on instinct, improvising to adjust and try to figure out his own thoughts when he doesn't have the time to make Izaya stop choking on himself. Even if he does breathe it's not enough to convince Shizuo that it's over so he does the next best (the worst possible thing to do) thing and tries to force Izaya to breathe. With his own mouth, nonetheless, in a disturbing twist of irony and self-denial he's not going to admit every reason—stick to the basics—and then deal with the thoughts later, which is now.

His feet take him to the station and ticket crumpled between his fingers like the old cigarette he grinds into the ground, he's thinking too much all at once because it's the flea's damn fault. It always is with him and his stupid games and why can't he just go back to the way things were with hatred and throwing objects instead of moving backwards? This isn't how their games go and with Izaya not up to playing anymore—is he even sick? His mind tells his _yes_ without hesitation and why—or this is a whole new game that's just to piss him off more. He's a monster: that's what Izaya calls him. Always the same, always the parasitic flea and the monster in a bartender's suit. Fitting, when Izaya has no room to talk when he is his own monster that keeps him suffocating on nothing and calling Shizuo, because this is just a _game._ It's all it can ever be and if Shizuo's undecided on that it's because he's obviously not thinking in the right frame of mind (with Izaya it's never that easy) when he wants to move away, counting the seconds going by until he can forget everything on his mind. Not moving in the opposite, taking time to realize how fucked up his mind is when he knows and he hopes that Izaya doesn't catch.

Most likely the stupid flea knows already and this is why—Shizuo stops, clenching hands into fists and resisting the urge to grab onto the pole in front of him while people remain around him, unafraid and unaware of who he is and what he's done. It's not like him—this game of mentality is Izaya's field—to be so confused and conflicted when for one thing he knows he's heading to the apartment in Shinjuku that has no nameplate but only one occupant. The countdown to getting there— _hurry up—_ is similar to the first time, but now he's feeling the seconds starting to crawl under his skin from below the fingertips to the nerves in his head, where he's keeping a lid on everything that he wants to throw at Izaya to stop messing around with him.

Checks his phone, almost smashed in his hand but he needs it to know—five minutes only. Five? This is going too slow, with all the extra stops and what if he's not there on time? Last time he barely passed the clock before he finds Izaya to his surprise and the fact the idiot doesn't breathe when he's supposed to. It's not—definitely most certainly and for the flea's information—ever his responsibility to play doctor for the fucking idiot. With all the joking laughs and teasing it's a wonder why he's even rushing now to get to an apartment to be played. That's all he can expect, counting down the time and checks his phone again when it's still the same minute. Everything is going too slow and he doesn't have the time to care or to make sure that this isn't a stupid idea because when Izaya always answers his calls, it means the idiot has time to answer them now. Combined with acting nearly dead for whatever reason is a bonus as a means of raising concern when Shizuo's not a monster like that. He may be a monster with the strength in his hands, constantly destroying everything he touches and hates when he sees the looks of fear on the ignorant faces of everyone else, but he can't _be_ a monster when Izaya is the one that sets the standard and constantly fails to expect anything. Shizuo's life is faster and without reservations of setting evil in the form of malicious entertainment but why he's doing anything anymore is completely a mystery he's not sure he wants to solve while he thinks.

 _Come on_. Hurry up, damn train that keeps pulling all the extra stops with people crowding—twelve minutes. There's no set time limit from how long Izaya last called (days ago, running out of time) but he has to make it there now if he wants answers and to tell the flea to leave his thoughts alone and buzz off. Inflict the torture of not just bites from a pocket knife but the hours of wondering what he's doing and why he bothers to help Izaya when the flea clearly doesn't deserve it and how Shizuo can't sleep if he's going to be doing this for this idiot. A parasite is what he is—biting and sucking every last bit of humanity out of Shizuo like it's still there and his for the taking to feed on when Shizuo's following instinct and he's intelligent but only Izaya knows that. Which makes this game easier to follow Izaya's unmet expectations and keep surprising him with the flying vending machines or showing up to keep him alive instead of finishing him off. It's a favor of truth when Izaya's called him and Shizuo decides to keep the favor unnamed by helping the idiot calm down—until he passes out and Shizuo leaves, forgets and tries to never remember the way he walks out and tells himself that it's justified because Izaya isn't human. (Like himself, which only makes everything worse.)

He knows—swallowing it down, realizing—that Izaya is full of prickly thorns to _keep out_ the same way he doesn't ever want to be near Shizuo when they're in Raira. Hanging off of others to use the red eyes only complete the look of a rose drenched in thorns and nonetheless still dying when he thinks he's on top of everything. Shizuo, Izaya doesn't realize it yet, can see right through every act (until anger acts out instead, his fatal flaw) when Izaya pretends to care and that yes, he's fine if he's bleeding to death or hiding away when he's not well enough to torture someone else. Everything is and has been a game of time, seeing how much can be done until now, where it moves backwards and the stops on the train seem to move in reverse for how long this is taking. Phone in his hand, almost crunching with metal like plastic and the same sort of dim glow in counting the last moments of forgetting to breathe by now, Shizuo dials the number again and he keeps it in his hand, waiting and watching the screen while grinding his teeth for the train to move and get somewhere in time. People are starting to stare and it's just what he needs now, waiting for the _Shinjuku_ and the doors slide open not fast enough for him to leave, picking up a run and the call still ringing in his hand when he repeats the same route when it's automatic and with this repeat game of never really knowing. Shizuo runs, sprinting down streets where he doesn't remember the name and no one remembers him, so it's better to keep moving instead of asking when thoughts are harder to explain when running away is only plausible for a little while.

The ringing stops on the second street down, causing a faster sprint when his teeth grind and when he breathes through his nose he can imitate the monster that Izaya pictures him to be. He's waiting, waiting for Izaya to be laughing the moment he breaks down the door to slam it into the parasite's head because this is only pretending, right. Izaya may be full of holes but it's not like he's going to let anyone see—being Shizuo himself, a monster in Izaya's twisted definition and too perceptive for Izaya's own good, he can see the scar tissue before it starts to form when it's coping that the parasite does. All the anger that surges washes away any trace of being more than a simple-minded beast. The way he roars only confirms it when Izaya's laughing, running across the city of Ikebukuro to one day fall to either's ruin. Crashing buildings can be caused by the both of them is only normal when they can't face each other without one of them throwing something. Like children, the two never learn when it's all childish rage and jealousy for the other that neither notice.

His cellphone is at the breaking point between his fingers between redials and choosing to throw his phone into the ground to watch it shatter so maybe he can stop the frantic rate thoughts come slamming into his head. Twenty-three calls down and not a word between them when after all of what Shizuo has done (what hasn't he) and then the ticking feeling in the back of his mind. Constant and cold with the clock ticking down and seconds passing to match when days come to this. Running down streets of Shinjuku with spared streetlights and street signs rushing by in blurs of red that don't match the same color he's seeing in the backs of his eyelids. Like a brand that sizzles and burns over a scar that doesn't fade with a switchblade driving itself back into the wound.

Izaya's apartment comes into view and he feels the breaths as they race through his chest and in a push and pull motion he keeps moving. A beast that has no limits when filled with adrenaline and hunting. All for that Izaya's most likely— _dead_ —fine and will laugh when Shizuo strikes him with his own door. Throw him out into the street and shout his name when he doesn't run, to remind him and Shizuo himself how much of an idiot Izaya is and how stupid he makes Shizuo. All the stupid games and one day before Shizuo realizes his brain will fry and the flea will have the decency to laugh at his own insanity, but it's a long way for Izaya to become that self-aware.

The door is only an obstacle on a quiet street as the anticipation dangles in the air. Shizuo is never one for dramatics and slamming the door open with Izaya's name ringing in the sound isn't what he necessarily calls theatrics. Maybe not necessary, but with Izaya, he never knows or seems to care all that much. "Iz-za-ya!" he calls again and it echoes in the empty apartment room, slamming the door behind him with a groan that forewarns any more pressure on the hinges and it will snap. Which is surprising that it still stands the doorknob isn't crumbled by his fingers. Heavily dented, but nothing more.

"Would you quit yelling, Shizu-chan?" Izaya's voice comes from on Shizuo's right, irritable and annoying as always which stops him—not as much as the quiet tone does that reverberates in Shizuo's head when all the thoughts of nothing and everything smashing together turn to nothing. Blank emptiness and Izaya pops up from his black couch and to his feet he carefully stands, looking unamused from where Shizuo can catch the glitter of red warning signs. "Did I not get the memo that you were going to destroy my apartment, or are you just that stupid that you came uninvited?" Weak even for him, but it still works to rile Shizuo up.

"Shut the fuck up, flea." Shizuo breathes in a huff, angry and fists clenching when he walks over to Izaya, not bothering to take off his shoes because he's not preoccupied with giving a fuck of what the flea thinks. All he can see is the uninterested expression on Izaya's face that on closer inspection is more tired and creased with lack of sleep. He looks older and thinner than the regular shitty flea he knows and it starts to creep into his mind with suspicions sharpening from the dull throb at the back of his mind. Barbs coat his tongue before he gets the chance to control his anger when he first sees Izaya like the knee-jerk reaction of adrenaline rushing through his veins. Nothing else comes to mind when he approaches Izaya who keeps his eyes on Shizuo, never straying despite the slowly appearing weaknesses that fault the mask of indifference. His eyes are stained red with the blood of people's lives he has murdered and they're dull and lifeless without sleep.

"Get out of my house, Shizu-chan." Izaya looks as though he wants to come up with some clever jibe but when his mouth opens, a noise ruptures between his lips and gasping from his throat so he tries to cover it up with a cough. Shizuo steps closer when he sees that all isn't as Izaya wants it to be. The flea is painting a picture with red the same color as his eyes to hide everything that he doesn't want others to see. "Unless you've come to finish what you've started." The drawl is dangerous because it's a hook, line, and sinking or floating with blood in the water and stained on Shizuo's hands. What is he talking about—that's the hint. The bait to catch and ensnare Shizuo when the rules aren't set yet.

"You look sucked dry, flea." Shizuo calls a foot or two away and he sees the trembling set in Izaya's shoulders when he rattles with each dragging inhale. Quiet as he breathes through his nose (mouth slightly open, lips parted and cracked with red lines dragging deep) into what Shizuo can only imagine are shuddering lungs that don't hold much air. Izaya tosses him a used, worn out grin that's more lopsided and he never sees it move to the danger signs for eyes. Brightness reduced to low levels like Izaya's running out of battery power to keep being the robotic parasite he has to be in order to destroy lives and take them without a bat of an eye. From the way he's staring at Shizuo with an almost challenge and almost uncertainty of any words to come from his mouth, he presses his glare into a thin exasperated glance. Shizuo can see right through him, which is more surprising than when he normally does with little to no thought.

Something, Shizuo deduces clearly and he takes a step forward—Izaya moves back—is wrong. Not only because Izaya isn't standing on his own, leaning heavily on his black leather sofa, but the ashen face and white knuckles tightened into weak fists empty of knives speak in volumes of whispers to shrieking sirens. Izaya's body is in a tight line of curled lips that shudder for breaths that don't reach far enough and all of him is tensing in anticipation. Waiting, as if the threat is passing by when Shizuo doesn't ever count as a threat that can wind Izaya up like a reverse clock.

"What the hell happened to you, flea?" Shizuo counters Izaya's step back, moving closer with a larger step and now easily an arm's reach away from grabbing the flea by the throat. Not that he wants to—he wants answers first. Violence isn't his name or the sin he wants to be remembered by. "You look worse than before, and you haven't answered any of my calls." Attempting to not sound like a desperate moron (which is what Izaya's thinking, obviously) Shizuo straightens his back and he watches the shiver race down Izaya's nervous feet and he sees that Izaya is swaying on his feet.

"Taking a personal vacation, Shizu-chan." Izaya doesn't have the effort to snap back in a retort that will arouse Shizuo's anger. Instead he watches from half-lidded eyes as Shizuo seems to catch the light in a darker world of waking up to another reality he has no chance to escape. "Until you rudely decided to barge in not once, but twice. I'm disappointed in your lack of self-restraint." he tsks boredly. His body language is the opposite of deadly calm, save for the facade of nonchalance as a frontal guard. Shizuo doesn't step forward but he notices Izaya's twitching setting in his fingers as if ready to find a way to escape.

"You don't ever take a break, fucking louse." Shizuo counters and he knows for a fact that he's right. "So cut the crap and tell me what the fuck is going on now." Step forward—back. Izaya's leg brushes dangerously close against the coffee table and his balance is swaying. Every second passing Shizuo stares into the face of an insane information broker he notices the color draining like the first time he finds Izaya lying on the ground. Pale as death and shivering by the looks of it. The air grows thin and tight with tension to grind into the ground with each move of the next chess piece. This game they're playing—it's not a game.

"So blunt to state the obvious, Shizu-chan. And here I thought you could never understand sarcasm. You must be evolving." Deadpan tired and cold sweat leak down his palms where he swears that the floor isn't moving and his eyes are focusing just a little less than the usual perfect. Exhausted and sleepy and arguing aren't Izaya's specialties put together unless dealing with an unexpected outcome to develop from this confrontation.

"At least I'm not decomposing." Ouch.

Another step forward and Izaya has to look back in order to move but he can't or he's going to fall. Sickly sweet is the realization trickling down his throat and starting to sting his sinuses when he hates accepting that his mind is firing thoughts too quickly to comprehend and process. Hence the unexpected rise of nervous fear and twitching anxiety that burns deep into his shoulders and his bones rattle with the click of his teeth grinding. "Good of you to notice. Too bad I'm not in the mood to play your silly game. So get out, before I call the police."

"Tch. As if." Shizuo advances and Izaya can feel the air buzzing between them and it's suddenly harder to breathe and swallow down the choking noise that comes up—suspiciously a sob—and his eyes are stinging with foreign grief. Or anger; whatever it is. "You don't want anyone to know where you live. The police don't get involved unless you plan for them to, when you're conveniently out of the picture and can't be traced." Right on the head and Izaya's is spinning when he tries to count down from ten to calm the rapid fire of nerves shaking in his knees. No switchblade or flickblades or anything to keep Shizuo from being stupid and having the nerve to murder Izaya. Well, it's an interesting proposal if he can manage to perform a mercy killing without overthinking it.

Izaya tries to speak—his voice fails and catches in his throat with the aftermath scraping against his dry tongue and lodging there. Initially the first shot of panic bursts and fires in his head to force the rest of his body to start moving and he knows—it's going to happen again—he needs to get Shizuo out or find a way to get out and later when he can manage, a new apartment. Shizuo is too nosy and too perceptive to let it go like the stupid beast he should be and when Izaya's trying to keep his composure the protozoan starts to pick him apart as if he's already not reduced to _nothing._ Count down from ten, starting with ten and keep moving—don't think or speak just—away from Shizuo and slide one shaking foot back and pretend to balance well. _Ten_ is the amount of time it takes to either make or break and lose his bearings and just run until the panic settles down or watch Shizuo as he loses his control in a form of humiliation and shame mixed with torture.

Shizuo's speaking but fragments are pounding on Izaya's eardrums—shut _up._ "Oi, flea. Answer the fucking question before I..." the rest Izaya can probably fill in himself but he needs to keep not thinking and not feeling the ache of his chest tightening up to his salted throat.

One last step forward and a final step back before Izaya forgets with preoccupation of not thinking that he hits the coffee table behind him and it triggers the chain of reactions. One moment he's acting as if he's not shutting down from the weak impulses of his own mind and the darkness is rising higher on the walls with the shadows that creep and clutch if he dares to turn his head and the next sixteenth of a second is like maligned harmonies in a crashing symphony of falling back. Shizuo's eyes widen when they're on him and they watch him fall as the floor rises to claim him and he knows the pain before it happens and Shizuo reaches forward far too late with the surprise and Izaya's feet are slippery when soaked with cold sweat. His head collides with the floor and his thoughts rattle in his head when the silent sirens are wailing in his ears to drown out Shizuo's concerned tones that fall too low to be heard in the shrill cries. His eyes are dark—can't see can't feel can't he can't—and the world is faded above him while below he can't feel what's holding him down to the ground. A heavy weight on him and the creak of his ribs must be his ribcage collapsing after his lungs expand and deflate for one last heavy sigh that forces the breath from him like a sucker punch. Shizuo doesn't have to take the blame for the hit this time, too. _Nine_ until he breaks and shatters completely into dust that flies away when monster paws try to pick him up.

"Izaya—what the fuck is going on with you!?" Shizuo sounds like he's submerged or Izaya's drowning when both are applicable because his sight is waning and his ears are too. Maybe it is coming too quickly for eighths and when time is moving too fast it's almost backwards he doesn't know when to stop counting the seconds. Panic and anxious and fear and every basic simplistic thought he can't remember to think come to the surface for him while simultaneously dragging him down into the dark waters of regret and unknown riptides to lead him astray. His mind is in fragments. No way out if he can't see, needs to breathe— _can't—_ stop it, stop it, _enough_ already. Shizuo—beast monster protozoan idiot—calls _eight_ while grappling Izaya's arm and pulling him off the ground where the informant can tell going by the rush of air beneath his back and shudders in response. Forgetting how to breathe is far too easy and remembering takes longer when his throat is burning for oxygen and his lungs are collapsing again in deflated heaps of pink flesh turning dark.

Shizuo's voice is in his ear and he feels the leather of his couch beneath him, lying on his back and shaking without his own permission—Shizuo's doing this and he's calling the fucking flea's name to wake the fuck up and tell him what is going on already. If only he knew exactly how to answer the same question himself, maybe Izaya would take the time to laugh and use another pathetic comeback just to get Shizu-chan angry and snarling like the raving monster he is. Not the one in his head that makes his ears ring with screaming thoughts never halting and slamming against the interior of his skull to pound his brain into mush if it's not there yet. _Seven_ down and how is this going to end—stop, stop, stop—depends on whether or not Izaya will still be alive with how quickly he loses the air that sits above his head and he can't move at all—paralyzed and lying prone to the attack of two monsters and neither are to be controlled by calculating movements. They're wild and angry and free to rip and tear him apart like the nights of never falling asleep or the shadows that creep and the images that force him to keep reminding himself they aren't real and logic fails him when emotion is too difficult to control—he hates it. Despises it all when it's petty and useless and the reason why his eyes are burning and cold sweat trickles down his palms.

"Izaya—Izaya, fuck," Shizuo keeps trying to figure out what's going on when he pulls Izaya onto the couch and his eyes are completely unfocused and blank, never looking at anything in particular while the trembling rises to a climax. Knowing of only one thing to do with his brain running on adrenaline and instinct Shizuo presses Izaya close to himself to steady the shaking and keep him from hurting himself. Izaya's head resting on his shoulder Shizuo can feel the nervous shuddering and he feels the distinct grasp of hands on his shirt and for the moment he dismisses the fact he doesn't want Kasuka's clothes to get ruined. It doesn't matter—not now—when he can't help that what is shivering and gasping in his arms is his enemy and this situation somehow becomes a reality instead of a nightmare. "Flea, talk to me. Tell me what's going on in that fucked up head of yours so I can help you." _Six_ is the silent number of counting down Shizuo doesn't hear when Izaya's lips press it frantically with red-lined cracks in Shizuo's shoulder. He doesn't know what's going to happen—what will happen, to be clear—but it is redundant in trying to understand what Izaya knows that monsters _can't_ and neither can he while he feels trapped and suffocating under the pressure of arms squeezing the life out of him.

A hand covers Izaya's mouth and a voice is sharp and clear in his ear. "Breathe through your mouth." Shizuo commands with a low tone that means Izaya has no room to argue, out of breath and aching with cracking ribs and a heart that pounds against the mercilessly. Thoughts swimming and stretching and breaking with the snaps of his veins popping—but Shizuo keeps him grounded and pulls his head out of the waves. "Count, Izaya. In, two, three, four," Shizuo makes an example of himself (forgetting how ridiculous this is out of context—it doesn't _matter_ ) and his chest expands with a soft sigh of air rushing into his nose. Izaya can feel himself trying to follow with the grasping childish desperation of something so simple as breathing. Shizuo's voice in his ear and the air brushes against the shell, forcing a stilled shiver. "Breathe out, two, three, four." As his chest expands he deflates with a heart not hammering angrily in frustration with the darkness swallowing Izaya's eyes and his rationality—biting down on his sanity when he can't control this and it's progressing to this far. _Five_ fingers over his mouth and the calming low octave of Shizuo's voice when he's not furious like he usually is and Izaya can laugh and run away. This time is too different and too alien to feel normal—Izaya doesn't feel normal but for Shizuo—breathing is as natural as the grip around Izaya's arms and brushing against his lower ribs.

Darkness beckons and calls with the howls of crashing thoughts and panicking deep-rooted and angry as it rears its ugly head and Izaya wants to bash his against the wall. The grip on his mouth and the other around him keeps him from moving— _breathe,_ Izaya. Vomit rises in his salted throat and burns like the water in his bleary eyes that are veiled with choosing not to see and the anxiety that cloaks them to keep from the frenzy of dread leaking into his brain. "Come on, Izaya. Focus on me." Shizuo moves to pull Izaya over him—careful and gentle as if not to break the wobbly baby bird—and the hand on his ribs tightens and releases in comforting circles that his fingers trace. Focus on something else is all he's asking while Izaya shudders in his grasp and the muffled noise reaches Shizuo's chest when the other hand leaves Izaya's mouth and fingers brush against the back of his ear. No anger, no violence—it's all so wrong. It doesn't make any sense while Shizuo counts to _four—breathe—_ and if Izaya has the capacity to function and get angry over the fact that Shizuo isn't being the beast he's supposed to be. Then it's wasting in the precious seconds of oxygen sucked in through his nose with staccato punctuation on what inflates his blistering lungs.

"Sh-Sh-Shizu-cha..." Izaya fumbles with gasps through his mouth and tastes the odor of cigarettes and warmth from Shizuo (his eyes, he reasons, water from this) while hands on him reassure that he's being surrounded with a wild beast that is too tame to predict. "I c-can't..." no words are coming out and the art of balance is in imbalance and toppled over while he shivers and gasps with fingers tightening in the brute's shirt and clinging for dear life and for the looming presence of anxious panic to leave. Warm breaths on his ear, fingers behind his ear where the touch is sensitive, and the grasp on his ribs threaten to chase away the panic because it can't carry him off when he's firmly anchored to the ground in this unexpected twist. How or why Shizuo can do this and for what reason is it Izaya he chooses to forget that he's a beast and the one that's in Izaya's mind has to compete for space when filling with too much of what he can't expect and the churning of logic versus emotion. All of his control is slipping through his fingers and the heated saliva of leaking from the clench of his teeth when his tongue writhes in muffled cries of the stuttering noises of his throat. His eyes are burning and when he blinks frantically to clear the vision that is distorted and blurred with slowly rising colors of his living room pulsing behind his eyes. Only to realize that his eyes have been squeezed shut tightly for how long he doesn't recall but when he tries to focus his head pounds harder into his neck and presses down his spine.

"Just keep breathing." Shizuo doesn't say Izaya's name—odd. He focuses on articulating the slow count with a tapping middle finger on a tangible rib lying beneath the sheet of skin that keeps Izaya bound together. Too bad it doesn't work for his mind or he wouldn't be in this situation and questioning whether or not he's losing his sanity by imagining Shizuo—Shizu-chan, the beast of Ikebukuro, calming him down. It doesn't and shouldn't make any sense and why it's happening is a headache on its own. "In, _two,_ three, four..." Shizuo reminds him and he's speaking in a quiet voice that betrays his brutish appearance hidden in his shoulder with Izaya pressed into the hard muscle. Izaya's mind betrays him—counting down silently with Shizuo's voice murmuring in his ear as if commanding the agonized panic to leave. It's not fair how it silently begins to trickle out of his mind and the churning of his stomach still remains if he thinks he's going to be sick and vomit until he passes out. But he's tired—eyes drooping and with images sharpening they're still fuzzy with sleep forcing its way in with the low tone of Shizuo's voice and his eyes are burning with his nose and throat.

 _One_ tear slides down Izaya's cheek and colors Shizuo's shirt. The white turns dark with a stain and the touches on his skin that are confusing and infuriating with the calmness that they keep him down until they freeze in place. Silence counts the seconds down and it's the end of moving backward with darkness fading and maybe he's breathing again but he holds his breath when the next moments mean moving forward or falling back down. Either one he doesn't know what to hope for because it's too much to think about and he can't bring himself to now of all times. One more stream follows and then three more after that, burning hot trails down cold skin and Izaya starts realizing that the stench of cigarettes aren't causing the scorching pathways of saltwater from his eyes. "Flea..." Shizuo's surprised tone is still flat with reassuring notes and then his fingers tighten and the sensations start up again with too much warmth and quiet to process.

Time is up and _zero_ panic attacks. No counting and waiting for it to end or vomiting and wondering why he's still alive and shaking on his feet. It also means no counting back in a counterclockwise state of mind and twitching fingers clutched in the shirt of an enemy. Questions and accusations and other strange sorts of affairs, yes, but there isn't any going back when Shizuo has made the decision to close the door and pretend not to care. Maybe it is a decision that doesn't offer much time to think and requires a split moment's hesitation and it's already too late. So that's why Shizuo would come, and not for any reason because Izaya knows how much Shizuo hates him and how much the bleach blond monster infuriates him with how confusing every unreadable action is. Why, why, why—is on his mind no matter how tired he is and his eyelids pull to close with wet drops hanging from his eyelashes. For some reason and entirely by coincidence and lack of self-control, a pained noise rises from his throat and echoes in his head after he hears it.

"Shit, Izaya," Shizuo hears the pained sound and his chest clenches with what he's doing. The choking sounds like weak laughter and Izaya will probably come up with an excuse but his mouth is full of stuttering breaths over the caught surprised pitiful noises. "Are you crying? Don't—don't cry, come on." Shizuo's not the best at comforting and the whimper that Izaya tries to bury with a hand over his own mouth and the tears are a stark contrast to the forced reality of a panic attack to the real world. In front of Shizuo, no less. It's amusing, if Izaya isn't so occupied as to try and stop the emotional reaction to notice Shizuo's attempts of trying to calm his enemy. This is exactly what he dreads in the end result of every panic attack that reminds him of when Shizuo first nearly broke down his door. The vomit on the floor that makes a phantom scorching burn down his esophagus and the pathways of fingers up and down the knotted muscles of his back. Trying to understand all of this—Shizuo is _supposed_ to be a monster and not—Izaya feels he's losing his mind with too much to think about with thoughts either nonsensical and fleeting but crashing in his head or the pricking ones that ask _why_ him and _why Shizuo_ altogether. Nothing is making any sense and the only way to escape for now is to bury his head into the chest of a monster who—is going to kill him _now now now get away—_ always manages to keep Izaya guessing while preparing for his own death.

He's going to die. The thought that remains high above any others fleeting and gasping in calls of adrenaline and fear left over from the panicking is quickly sinking into his mind and taking control of the shuddering encased in a monster. Hands will move to his throat—on his back, in his hair— _breathe, Izaya,_ is echoing in his ear around the tightening grasp of arms and he knows he's going to die. Shizuo is a monster that can't be tamed and Izaya knows this is only a plot (be it from the darkness in his head or his own delusional insanity) to strangle him until he coughs and chokes and the blood vomit hooks in his throat. But the heat draining from his skin means that Shizuo's only working to kill him and now he can't—

"Make it _stop,_ " Izaya lifts his head and uses his clenched fists and in his frustration he presses his lips to Shizuo's, silencing the buzzing thoughts and the what ifs and what happens next to catch a glimpse of wide brown eyes before his own slip shut. Shizuo tastes warm and the seam of his lips is hot which invites him to kiss deeper to reach the heat that slips from his own skin. Fingers tighten in his hair and on his back, sliding with the hiss of a sharp breath brushing his lips. If Izaya is going to die he can't go without one last stab at Shizuo while he tries to figure out the rush of calm in his head when his thoughts are angry and insistent to end the maelstrom of buzzing nerves beneath his skin. He needs a distraction—anything to keep his mind off the shallow pants that rupture his lungs and the illusions of shadows twisting in his peripheral vision. A distraction to play keep away and not look when he blinks to clear his eyes.

"Izaya, what are you—!?" Shizuo tries to voice reason in this (despite being the chaos) and Izaya quickly presses his lips to Shizuo's again, pushing for deeper contact and lips parting with shuddering breaths leaking into Shizuo's mouth. Shizuo can't see the shadows lurking in Izaya's eyes when their lips press together but he feels the breaths coming too quick and too slight to be sufficient in keeping Izaya from hyperventilating. Taking control of the kiss his hands tighten on Izaya—a gasp through teeth clicking and lips moving—forcing air out of one breath and pushing into another when Izaya tries to pull away. Breathe in—through the nose, lips closing and fingers stroking down his neck. Breathe out—lips parted and hot air drying wet puffs against Shizuo's teeth and tongue. Continuing on Izaya craves the distraction to keep from thinking too much and too little (Shizuo's lips, it turns out, are good at keeping his brain busy) before another panic creeps into the cracks of flesh and bleeds through until his control is distorted like the shadows behind his eyelids. It's not real, he tells himself. Doesn't mean he believes it.

"S-Stop," Izaya pants in an exhale and Shizuo pushes to the next breath in, "Sh-Shizu, s-stop it..." he's not talking about the kiss. It's more about the edging shadow in the hallway near his kitchen and he knows it doesn't exist but the darkness is overwhelming and he can't let it come any closer. Shizuo doesn't understand what he means (he's not being very clear either) and keeps pressing kisses that give and take air to cycle in his brain and _calm down_ is pressed into Izaya's lips when he speaks in an anxious stutter. But he can't help the warning his brain is communicating directly to his mouth without intervention of rational thought—all out the window by now and dying in the lack of sleep that forces his eyes open. The darkness creeps closer and spills on the floor and in response his breath halts in a quiet gasp Shizuo can hear. Once forgotten burning starts to sting his eyes when Shizuo's not killing him now and the oxygen burns on contact with the hot trails burning up the flesh of his cheeks. A whimper that's almost inaudible slips past and he can't keep up the kisses that burn like molten lead and fill his chest with holes.

When Izaya falls silent save for the trembling muscles jumping beneath each touch of Shizuo's fingertips he pulls away from unresponsive lips and ignores the jumbling rush of tidal waves filled with thoughts ready to drown him. Izaya's eyes are gone behind thick eyelashes framed with wetness and while it's a first to see the sight he doesn't want to think about it now. Just react like it's Kasuka and not the flea and maybe he won't forget what he means to do while fighting with his reason that divides down a thin line. Shizuo shakes his head and uses a thumb to brush away stray drops and drags his thumb over parted lips to remind Izaya— _breathe—_ and the pants are silenced once again. But the trembling is all too real and numbingly present when Shizuo doesn't know what to do and why this is happening (hoping that another reaction doesn't come when Izaya's like this) and maybe Izaya's broken by the way that this isn't Izaya.

It's not like he can ask when he looks down and sees Izaya's head against his collarbones and curled in his lap in an odd twist of fate that must mean Izaya's either dying or completely losing his mind if it's there in the first place. Fingers twisting in his shirt anchor the twitching shocks down Izaya's body and they they vibrate to Shizuo's bones. Not knowing where to start or where they're at, Shizuo opts to try and calm Izaya down. Memories of the last visit mean a grim reminder of twenty-three missed calls and the smell of watered-down bile which is frankly what Izaya tastes like on the floor and in his lap. At least one thing stays constant—it's not good either.

They stay still on Izaya's couch when it's past noon and the sun is leaking through windows with partially open drapes. Shizuo feels the unnatural shivers and he doesn't say a word with the wet drops multiplying on his shirt as he's tongue-tied with the heady rush of thoughts and anger versus fear and confusion with the horror of what he's doing and what he has done. Nothing can prepare him for the moment of right now in Izaya's apartment where no one knows where they are kept out of the real world tucked in a corner of a Shinjuku neighborhood. All eyes and thoughts should be left at the door—Shizuo's starting to realize that there isn't a point to keep trying to solve the questions and the possibility of anger sizzling in his nerves because it's not going to help. The rules are changing and molding into something new. New territory means blank slates and breaking old facades (challenge the new with the same characteristics of one lazy smirk and the narrow glare behind blue sunglasses) to shape new ones around a dangerous new playground.

Emotions are not Izaya's strong suit and to deal with them means shutting down.

Logic cannot exist in a body made of illogical proportions and too much anger to hold down from brain to fingers and breaking whatever touches a beast.

In a way, both of them are lying bare on a leather couch where there is no room for dreams—too tired to stay awake—and thoughts are practically useless at this point with no meaning to much of older rules of engagement. The game keeps changing when one loses but this time they're moving backward counterclockwise in the direction of nowhere going somewhere soon. Maybe this time means calling Shinra in an hour and after Izaya falls asleep for the first time in too long and in the arms of the enemy is only a beckoning call to snap his neck while he sleeps. If Shinra knows the answer to broken emotions and broken minds it means they can start over and keep fighting to win the next round. But to change—it's a dangerous edge of knowing what Shizuo is changing the moment he presses the first kiss and the next one that means they can't go back to strict bloodthirsty animals in a game of god and monster—does not guarantee what comes next.

What does happen and Shizuo can confirm is Izaya's head sliding against his shoulder and the fold of one smaller body fitting into the crease of Shizuo's.

They're moving behind the start of seconds ticking by.

Time is the measure of soft breaths rumbling with drowsy pulses of sleep and counting the seconds it takes to count down to forgetting—

Just this once.

And lose the meaning of deadlines.


	2. Counting Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The clock starts ticking, again.

" _Are you sure that this is Izaya we're talking about?"_ Shinra asks in confirmation, again, because the information is just as new to his ears as it is to Shizuo's. Today is just full of surprises and Izaya is still sleeping on his couch and his head is right next to Shizuo's thigh, resting on a pillow with deeper breaths pushing through his lips. Of course this is Izaya they're talking about and it's all that has been plaguing Shizuo for days now. Weeks before it's only every other thought instead of the streaming constant when he doesn't want to think about what this means.

"I'm sure. He's the one that—" Shizuo starts and he almost mentions the kiss but with as guilty as he is of the same thing it's best not to let Shinra know. "Called me a couple days ago. He was skittish and sounded like he was choking to death when I found him on his floor." Doesn't mention the vomit when that's disgusting enough to think about on top of every though of why he is numbly accepting that he is in Izaya's apartment and one hand has been resting in black hair. This isn't right. But when he thinks about it his fingers tighten and Izaya gives a noisy sigh as if to bring him back to the reality of the situation The gravity is realizing—

" _That doesn't sound like him at all. But if I had to guess, I'd say that he had a panic attack."_ Shinra hums to himself and no, it doesn't sound like Izaya at all. Not the one with taunting false smiles and fleeing like the parasite he is. _"Hyperventilation when he says he can't breathe, increased heart rate, physical illness, overwhelming anxiety, trembling or shaking, nausea...and paranoia all sound like a panic attack to me. But he doesn't usually get upset over anything, much less care at all. So stress-related would be the only thing I can think of why he would get like this. Maybe he's been overworking and his body finally decided to shut down with his brain."_ The name doesn't make any sense—Izaya, panicking—ridiculous. Although what Shinra lists off starts to make sense and Shizuo can only agree when there aren't any other options and he doubts that Izaya would know what's wrong with him.

(He wouldn't have called if he did.)

Taking the advice halfheartedly when it's all Shizuo has, he nods to himself and the brush of black hair against his hand makes him freeze but he doesn't pull away. What is going on and why he's doing this are complete mysteries to him. Not to mention the kiss—exactly what he doesn't want to think about with a keen awareness of what he's done. He already knows what he has done and now it means having to deal with it with Izaya or the option of walking away. Forget everything ever happened and go back to hating the flea because change is difficult and with Izaya it is next to useless for trying to bother. Izaya only cares for himself, Shizuo reminds himself. "Stress-related, hah? Since when does the flea ever short-circuit?" He can't think of a time the bastard has ever tried to be human or show a weakness besides bleeding when a vending machine clips him.

" _He's still a human, Shizuo. It happens. And my guess is that he's held back for so long that his brain couldn't take the stress and shut down. Do I need Celty to come pick him up? Speaking of which, where are you guys?"_ And now comes all the questions if Shizuo isn't careful and while he can try, Celty can see through any excuse and this one is harder to explain than a normal fight. Which is what Shizuo is anxious about and runs a hand through choppy bleach blond in an attempt to calm the racing thoughts that must have been transferred to his head when they—never mind.

Regret and humiliation start to leech at his brain. "It's fine. He's unconscious and probably will be for a while. What does he need to do?" Purposely leaving out _I_ because Shinra doesn't need to know when Shizuo doesn't know himself of what he's going to do and the urge to flee makes it seem cowardly like Izaya whenever he tries to run. Shinra pauses on the other side of the phone, considering everything in the conversation they've said and (is Shizuo sounding a bit strange today—?) deciding where to go next with what little he has. It's best for Izaya to come in and Shinra to properly give him an examination, but knowing Izaya, if it's not fatal then he won't appear. Speaking of which, how is he unconscious and why is Shizuo there? Well, besides being _concerned_ when Izaya called him a couple days ago and then ignored him. As much as he thinks there is going on right beneath him, it's hard to guess with those two.

Shinra racks his brain. _"Keep him calm and let him get some rest. Don't get angry or do anything too traumatizing until he can keep up. Right now he's too burned out to do anything."_ Another pause when Shizuo doesn't see Celty asking what's wrong from the other side in Shinra's apartment. Muffled noise reaches the receiver and then Shinra comes back. _"I'll send Celty over with some anxiety medication. It'll keep him calm and from having another attack. Where are you at?"_

He can't avoid this now. "Uh, his apartment. Not the office building." Eyes narrow and he squeezes the warmed plastic of his phone and he stops when he hears the groan of material giving way to his strength. Shinra falls silent coincidentally and several seconds are passing too slowly to dare to ask what thoughts come to mind and settle on his tongue. Not like he hasn't had enough of dealing with whatever it is mixed with Izaya and his regular bullshit of confusing him when the damn louse can't do anything productive like not talk cryptically. Unconsciousness seems to be his only good use, although when Shizuo glances and wishes at the back of his mind that he hadn't he sees that Izaya is sleeping with his breaths growing deeper. Just to make sure the hand on Izaya's head pulls through in a straightforward movement (petting him, for God's sake) and he hears a sigh.

Izaya must love to fuck with him this much. That must be why Shizuo is here in the first place and when he kisses Izaya the first day it's not so much thinking as it is doing (which is what he's known for) whatever it takes. As long as it doesn't return to the day that Izaya first calls and his stupid nickname sounds pitiful when he hears the choking and doesn't understand why Izaya would call in the first place. Now he's sitting in an apartment with an unconscious flea and he's going to have to explain to Celty before or after explaining to himself what the hell he thinks he's doing. Worst possible scenario is dealing with Izaya and a possible tantrum or the flea pulling pranks on him. If he can—a numb reminder—actually keep himself upright long enough to insult Shizuo on his lack of intelligence.

Shinra interrupts not soon enough but close enough to keep Shizuo's sanity lingering. He wonders if he'll ever be the same. _"My dearest Celty will be there soon, she should know the address."_ Shinra starts to hum to himself, surprising himself when he doesn't even know where Izaya's apartment is and they have a better relationship than him and Shizuo. Murmuring a note of gratitude Shizuo's fingers click the phone call to a halt and the line drops when his cellphone snaps into his pocket and maybe his fingers grip his own hair too tightly when he's starting to let all of this sink in. But also—Celty doesn't know where this place is, maybe. Shizuo knows from a coincidence or two of following Izaya, but he doesn't know what Celty knows or generally cares to know. She's still angry at him when hell, everybody is. At least she isn't affected by the ticking in his head of counting down to zero, despite the seconds that pass when time is up and Shizuo still finds himself counting too far and too fast in between numbers and the lapses of his own anger-fueled logic.

He texts Celty. [Shizuo Heiwajima: Do you know where Izaya's apartment is?] And then he rests his phone on his lap, fingers moving back to softer strands unaffected by bleach and frustration with angry fingers and too much strength to bear. Izaya doesn't raise an eyebrow or bat an eyelash, sleeping for once quietly, so unlike his own nature that Shizuo has to keep checking that Izaya is asleep. The predicament they're in is too strange to define and too unusual to deny. When at this point Shizuo's beginning to wonder what he's supposed to do to fill the silence of being in an apartment that isn't his with his archenemy sleeping beside him, defenseless (he thinks of himself as better than stooping so low) and soft breaths accenting each inhale and exhale through his nose. For as chatty as he is Izaya is entirely silent when he sleeps, or just too tired to make any noise.

His phone buzzes. [No, only his office. Do you have the address?] Celty texts back and Shizuo remembers the street, but not the entire address. Besides that his fingers are buzzing like his thoughts when it starts to sink in a little deeper that this isn't his territory and it oddly feels wrong. Like trespassing—even though Izaya does the same in gross extremities.

[Shizuo Heiwajima: 160-0022. Four blocks from Shinjuku Park.] Somehow he surprises himself in knowing where Shinjuku Park is, and all the more that he remembers the address a little too well. So his brain fills in as much as he can and somehow it translates to his fingers.

Seconds later Celty answers, unusually compliant with Shizuo knowing where Izaya's personal address is. It's been a weird day for all of them. [Alright. Thanks. See you then.] Like the ghost of conversation going sour or just quiet from the afternoon of talking about everything and anything in between until it fades into the dull thrum of spending time in another's company. That's one of the reasons why Shizuo enjoys Celty's friendship. She's never been as complicated as the louse lying next to him curling in on himself.

Shizuo finds himself tipping his head back, eyes sliding shut. "...What the fuck am I doing." he curses quietly under his breath, stifling a groan of disappointment and frustration slinking out of his throat and climbing up. "And why am I here with you, louse." The words stick in his throat like the bitter taste of ootoro he tries once on a dare from Tom, knowing how much he hates bitter things, and the taste is hard to swallow. How anyone could like it is beyond him in every aspect from the dour fatty taste to the texture of slippery wet fish. All in all, it's disgusting and he hates it.

"Shizu-chan...?"

Eyes snap to other ones—glares interacting when the body beside Shizuo shifts and the large one above Izaya casts a shadow of doubt amassing over his entire waking self. Sleepy from the impromptu nap Izaya's eyes aren't as sharp, clarity driven by necessity in finally getting some sort of rest. Shizuo doesn't need to know and understand that the past days or whatever in how long it's been he hasn't slept at all. Just sleep-panic-wake-exist. A boring existing routine suddenly shaken up and stirred into blinking sleepily, vices slipping off of his shoulders and his chest still heavy with the urge to breathe a little deeper. It's not really making any sense besides the shaking that feels like ghosts haunting Izaya's fingers, digging further into his bones when he squirms to push himself away from Shizuo,

Remembering who he is and where this is—his home. Shizuo is in _his_ home and without permission or even a word of arrival, although the details are a little fuzzy and slippery when attempting to grasp with a shaking hold.

"What are you doing here?" Izaya hisses, pushing back to the other end of the sofa with knees curling into his chest, fingers twitching into empty grasps when Shizuo notices a lack of a switchblade anywhere nearby to defend himself. Which explains more of why Izaya locks himself in the corner of the sofa, nearly pushing himself over the ledge and eyes narrowing like a cornered alley cat hissing and spitting while drenched in his own downpour of surprised confusion. He opens his mouth to speak in the precious seconds ticking by, meaning to say something probably sarcastic and meant to be hurtful despite his own failing state and—nothing. Nothing—because he (is too _empty_ ) has no words left in asking one simple question.

It's hard to stay angry and Shizuo calls upon some inkling of anger, igniting when Izaya's annoying tone is almost back to normal but stained with this new unwarranted development. "You called me, flea. When I found you the first time, you weren't looking so alive. And now you never bothered to—" he stops himself before the words start pouring out. It's not even morning anymore, afternoon shifting into place when now is not the time to risk it all. Let it go and pour salt into the wound means maybe not yet. Not now, at least. Shizuo shakes his head, frustrated when Izaya only curls in on himself more but makes no move to stand. Obviously if he hasn't by now then the dark circles under his eyes are more than just decoration.

"Never bothered to what, Shizu-chan?" Izaya spits, not even vaguely as threatening as his usual stupid antics. He still shifts on the balls of his feet, looking in odd directions searching for a way to escape and all of this is aggravating Shizuo's head. "As far as you are concerned beyond your stupid primal urges, a _parasite_ like me to you isn't of any importance." Red eyes glare into his, noting the lack of sunglasses and conveniently tucked into a front pocket with the favor of keeping the heat of the glare. "The first time was a mistake, Shizu-chan. You have no right to break into my apartment." And this, with every single defensive move and if Shizuo even shifts forward, Izaya braces for impact and it makes him angry.

Fleas aren't afraid of monsters. That's not how it works.

"I have a fucking right," Shizuo clears his voice, clenching fists and this time he lets Izaya see with those wandering eyes, giving him something to focus on for once— _listen for one time—_ and the stifled shuffle of air and a hiss of discontentment. "To barge in here when you called me the first time, on the floor suffocating and losing your goddamn mind." Which is entirely true except the whole act of coming here is entirely his choice and the reviving of a parasite to kiss and wonder if—that's too much thinking, he reminds himself scathingly. Being a body guard doesn't mean working for free, saving the life of one ungrateful flea and regretting more than just barging in. The empty silence that comes for days afterward is simply more than enough to get angry and punch a hole in the wall for. But it doesn't help when the blood slides down the cracks of his own self-imposed frustration.

Izaya doesn't take this well. Not that he can—slipping over and his own line of defense crumbling now. "Get out, Shizu-chan," he orders, intent with evident conviction in his tone to mean what he demands. Only that Shizuo doesn't move is the act of defiance for not the first time in a hateful relationship. Or whatever it is that stands between them and dying at each other's throats. Fitting in jagged edges yet this time around the game changes when certain pieces don't go the way they're meant to. Scattered, flaying, and ripping at the seams like Izaya when his stare isn't the same and the way he holds himself is more sheltered like a wounded animal, which is the same reason why Shizuo can't stay incensed for long. It's disgusting, watching Izaya cover himself in the achingly false pretense of being fine.

"Fuck that." Shizuo snaps back, waiting to hear the venom spit from Izaya's bared grimace when the flea tries to make the attempt of biting when Shizuo isn't the one letting go. Not now not later maybe not until he has enough answers to question himself properly. "You're going to tell me what the fuck is going on, and I'm not leaving until you do." he argues, making his point inherently clear when he leans forward and despite the nap and knowing Celty's supposed to be here his blood is surging. Izaya, disgusted of course by a monster, doesn't realize that anywhere can be a monster's den if willingly inviting himself to fall. Even if Shizuo isn't making all that much sense and really there isn't much sense of sleeping with his enemy on top of him. Not much to hang onto in the terms of sanity, it seems.

It's not all packed between the two of them in how tense the room is and why Izaya can feel the ghosts of tremors and fingers touching his skin like burn patterns. Right now feels dizzy suffocating in the sense of not having enough to breathe in and the monster is taking it all. Being a sleep-deprived, much smaller informant, Izaya knows that a lumbering beast will always overtake him just from the sheer monstrous power in one punch to the head and click his teeth into passing out. That would be nice—if Shizuo wasn't here to have to keep him unconscious. The last time he remembers sleeping, (hilarious joke, really,) it doesn't end well and he supposes that every time he tries to sleep nowadays it's going to be the slow death of him. " _You_ have no _purpose_ of being here, Shizu-chan." Izaya slips in, grinding his teeth together in restraining his sensibility of being reasonable.

"Hah?" Shizuo growls, seemingly unrestrained despite the fact Izaya isn't smashing into his wall and still hesitant to get off of his sofa—until Shizuo stands, looking down at him as if the pity isn't enough. End him, why won't he. "Don't bullshit me. You're not fine, flea." And his arms stay at his sides, no matter how much Shizuo fights the urge to slam the stupid flea's face into the nearest wall just to get rid of the ugly sneer with a room drenched in the reek of a parasite. It's disgusting and choking, almost, from how heavy the scent is. Heady, bitter tang that dries his throat from what is meant to be distaste.

"Says the beast who barged into my apartment, twice." Izaya never has the strength to play in these arguments these days. Time ticking away, no sleep, nothing to eat and nothing to remember how to live until these stupid attacks end for whatever reason. "You have nothing to do with my health, Shizu-chan, unless if you count ruining it. I'm doing a wonderful job myself without you. Tsk, tsk, Shizu-chan. Losing your touch now of all times." he murmurs darkly, loud enough for Shizuo's ears to scrape with picking up the hapless insults that tumble from Izaya's mouth. Which is even more frustrating annoying concerning because they're not the usual brand of ugly names and stupid tongue-in-cheek barbs they normally trade.

"Oh yeah?" Shizuo can't help lunging forward, breath on fire ready to be the dragon and kill the stupid distressed monster-god right in front of him. His hands catch wrists and pin Izaya down, still above him and feet on the floor to add a height difference too close to ignore. His voice lowers, feeling the shudder racing into his muscles from Izaya and wondering what's going on when Izaya has no look of being afraid but of being nauseous. Shinra says these things are—"You can't even get up. You don't even sleep, and you're paler than your normal death skin tone. Whatever the hell is going on, give it my regards for turning you into a useless target." What is the expression in Izaya's eyes when he's glaring and twitching in Shizuo's grasp, but it all looks wrong? Like a missing puzzle piece in a jigsaw of wrong pieces and the image doesn't make any sense much like himself and the logic here is that while Izaya looks angry, his expression up close is much different.

"Let go!" Izaya barks, pulling at his wrists and with more strength than Shizuo has ever credited him with possessing, but even then it isn't enough to release the tight lock of the blond's fingers. Locked in, Shizuo leaning over him ready to take a bite and get this over with and why hasn't he expected this before when they're both monsters at each other's throats. "Shizu-chan has nothing to do with me. So get out, and don't bother coming back to make sure if I'm dead." Izaya snarls, struggling again when Shizuo watches him oh so carefully that it hurts to feel the scrutinized death glare. After each attempt he starts finding himself panting shallowly, body moving in violent bursts of trying to break free or spasm in some sort of tug-o-war where both sides lose no matter how he moves. The panic, sort of an itchy dry feeling soaking in alcohol waiting for the fire to be lit, is creeping up his fingers and moving up his forearms against his bloodstream. Swimming upriver in a winning battle of his fingers going numb and not because they're not even bruising in Shizuo's grasp.

"Calm down," Shizuo sounds so far away by now, replaced by the echo of blood rushing in Izaya's ears. Dizzy on the lightheaded feeling he doesn't speak any more, seeing no point in wasting his breath as he continues to try and wriggle away. But Shizuo's closing in and the shadow casting is just like the one from before and if he focuses hard enough or not at all it's still going to be—he can't breathe anymore. No, no, no. This isn't happening. Oxygen is not going to his lungs and for another time of having another worthless attack right in front of Shizuo he can't hear the repetitive words of _calm down_ and whatever else comes empty from Shizuo's mouth. The lingering shadow of doubt can easily split open a weakened mind.

On the outside Shizuo can smell it. The fleeting, urgency-filled scent of sweat and panic. Being like a beast it's only laughable that he hasn't noticed it before. Though Izaya's eyes are glaring at him, the flea isn't even looking at him anymore. He's off somewhere of regressing back into that frame of mind, shuddering more frequently and the pants are relentless in getting faster and more breathless. "Hey, flea," he tries, working on getting a knee on the sofa to kneel over Izaya who still shrinks away, fighting to have Shizuo let go of him when they both know it ends in a one-way ticket to banging his head on the way down to the floor. "Flea—Izaya. Don't make me do this." Reminiscent of a countdown ticking down the moments of losing sanity or worlds colliding and going dark in whatever realm Izaya's mind is escaping to now instead of later. Tick tock, time's ticking away from having another panic attack.

A hand release Izaya's wrist, clamping over Izaya's mouth and leaving his nose free to breathe when the shiver races through him and he doesn't have much of a choice, pressing closer to Izaya when he starts the process again. "Calm down, Izaya. Just breathe through your nose." Shizuo does it in a better interest to keep Izaya from hyperventilating, going by the constant trembling throughout a much smaller body and colder than his. His hand over Izaya's mouth forces the informant to listen, not focusing when his eyes flicker and darken and he looks almost blind from the intense stare into nothing. Breaths come like heaves of water out of his lungs, drowning in himself while Shizuo cannot be that lifeboat to conveniently wrap around Izaya and keep him afloat from being submerged in the darker black waves of the unknown coming up to sweep and tear him apart. Thrown out to sea, never coming back empty shell clinging to the sand and nothing nothing _nothing left_ even when Shizuo is right here.

Battlefield-scarred when Izaya's fingernails, as blunt as they are, dig into Shizuo's shoulder blades and eventually he's in the same grasp, heartbeat pressing into his chest insistently and much calmer than his own racing one, breathing with watering eyes through his nose. Shizuo, unsure of how to form a net to carry him out like the squirming fish he is unwilling to die and certainly not close enough to consider the possibility of going out without some final retort. It's just—a panic attack. That's what it is, Shizuo remembers Shinra saying. Stress-related uncontrollable seizing fear and while the flea isn't afraid of much Shizuo supposes from logic and observation alone that the flea isn't as lucky when it comes to controlling these kinds of things.

"Breathe," Shizuo lowers his voice like talking to a frightened animal, moving his free arm to tentatively pull Izaya into his chest, other arm bending over Izaya's back and coming to keep its lock on Izaya's mouth, thumb brushing his cheek because the meaning of deadlines and limits aren't applied when time does not exist in black holes. There isn't a clock to keep track of the limitless breaths Izaya pulls weakly, quickly and easily in his lack of strength falling over himself when Shizuo isn't using any sort of strength. Things like this of standing and a pulse of wind to tumble down and knock over every single foundation of a base, taking hits like kisses in the dark of uncertainty in the name of remaining calm. If a storm is brewing then surely it is reaching its peak, waiting and breathing and careful touch, thumb strokes against a dampening cheek, fingers resting on Izaya's waist, feeling ridges of lower ribs through his shirt and the thought stores for later recovery.

This isn't how he expects this to occur, Izaya shivering in his arms in his lap in the flea's own home, willingly giving up on the force of having one of these attacks and obviously too ill to get away and hide so he can only get worse. Waiting over the tempest and somehow this isn't worth going back to where they stand in the first place. It's more that he wants to keep pressing forward and maybe never look back if they go this far because even if Izaya's the one down for the count Shizuo would rather not keep a ticking time bomb strapped to his chest in the hesitancy of never not knowing things like this. So the arms around Izaya remain, hand slipping off his mouth when Izaya doesn't seem in danger of hurting himself and this is really too confusing to handle when Shizuo silences his own rushing thoughts in danger of tilting Izaya's head back, making a point of avoiding red eyes swollen with stinging wet reflections and refusing to fall.

Funny enough, Izaya tastes like saltwater and bitter almond. And having paid attention from random (not so much in every case) gang attacks he knows what bitter almond is and the irony is that of course Izaya tastes like cyanide suicide, lips pressing together gently like a brush against a cheek. His hand still cups Izaya's cheek, moving to brush fingers over his ear whenever they part for Izaya to suck in another breath, almost unresponsive totally except for the bare pressure of his fingers digging into Shizuo's shoulders. Shizuo reminds himself to maintain restraint, pressing ginger kisses like the drops of stress relief that fall and collect on his vest. But at least—at least Izaya's eyes are closed and if his eyelashes are damp then Shizuo doesn't notice, ribs leaking of pulverized anger and this isn't the way of going back. It's sealing the deal of forcing them forward in wherever this is going.

As for now, kiss, breathe, kiss, sigh. Izaya is coiled danger and Shizuo knows this, no matter how compromised the flea is. Which also means that all of this, every breath and stolen kiss slowly getting longer, is at Izaya's consent and the feeling of knowing this kind of constricts and flutters like crushing and relieving kind of what is this—too much to think about. Just focus on the way Izaya's shivering comes down little by little to more manageable, kisses growing stronger losing the meaning of deadlines when this is much more suitable. Meaning it takes more presses of lips, Shizuo's being not the only ones participating in when he makes the move of licking Izaya's lower lip, never meaning to press in but only as a sort of anchoring presence. Fingers still tighten around him and shallow breaths are shaky from Izaya's mouth, but evening out. Only on the fringe of unsteady, but much more composed and calm.

Shizuo doesn't know when distraction becomes action and the kisses aren't for keeping Izaya away from a panic attack when he's already succeeded by now, having lips kiss and mold against his with Izaya's head tilting in turn. It doesn't matter as much, tasting bitter almond and some sort of copper, slowly creeping into his own mouth when Izaya presses for more, having to pull back to sort out his breaths and for several moments they don't do anything but wait. Shizuo tries to be careful, unwilling and unable to keep from pressing his lips against Izaya's throat and hearing the resulting rumble of an almost-chuckle, not hearing no as an answer and therefore continuing the trail of soft presses against the skin. With the stroke of his fingers over Izaya's spine he feels the expand and contract of the flea's lungs, chest moving steadily while he recovers from the last of having what he knows isn't the last panic attack.

"Shizu-chan," he almost sounds breathless even with the low tone of his voice, "what have we done?" The accusation is on his tongue and even if Shizuo knows it's there it doesn't stop him from tracing ribs, a slight nagging sensation with feeling bone and knowing that this isn't fake and it's not staged when Izaya can't possibly play that sort of fear game when it's the danger of being afraid of Shizuo. So Izaya speaks for the both of them, getting a sort of grudging admittance that the time is not so much important as it is for Shizuo knowing Celty should be here soon. "Because you're supposed to hate me, and now look what you've done." Izaya laughs, bitterly in the first sounds of realizing that this is not going to end the way maybe he's thought it would but on second thought it almost sounds like hesitating relief fleeting above his reach and not completely out of sight.

"Not my fault." Shizuo replies, head resting cautiously on Izaya's shoulder with his forehead resting on the bone, knowing Izaya probably hasn't eaten and he'll have to get the flea full of something or deal with the poke of ribs into his fingers. They can take their time. It's okay—he knows that. But where they go from now in many different traveling directions of different means to getting somewhere is confusing and too much to think about. Shizuo prefers not to burden himself with the heavy things, but they weigh in his mind like stones in the bottom of a pond. Forgotten, but still there. Izaya can worry about other things for now and somehow they'll have to sort this out without breaking anything and maybe some shed blood. For now is Izaya's arms coming around him and sighing with that bitter relief which Shizuo thinks he knows what the meaning is.

Izaya swallows, throat bobbing and Shizuo watches the trace of a quiver, but for an entirely different reason. For now he's finally silent, a welcome development in dealing with the flea. They don't move past breathing, hands stroking silent patterns of calm welcoming Izaya back to the waking world, no matter that it's afternoon and Celty—doesn't matter right now. Just calm, quiet, still waters maybe more streaks of wetness that drip onto him while the beast of Ikebukuro is content to hold and soothe. There's a lot more he can't do and focusing on that is more depressing than focusing on the now, like the smooth feel of slightly dry skin when Izaya shivers every once in a while, breaths deepening in the silent argument of not wanting to start this but honestly too tired to complain. They'll have to explain this and make sense and he knows Izaya's going to over-analyze to the very end of time which isn't as pleasant as it sounds when Shizuo also has curiosities for what cannot be explained. Like holding an enemy-friend—not really sure anymore.

When Izaya slumps, it takes another fifteen minutes to let him do as he needs to, waiting out the ache and letting it dry on someone else's shirt for once. Not his style in particular but he'll blame it on the lack of sleep and Shizuo will agree not to mention it. Ever. Even if he chokes on his own breath and the tremors start for Shizuo to tighten his hold, let Izaya wait it out and setting as an anchor of sorts for keeping the both of them grounded. Right now it's exhausting thinking about anything but the basics for either, mentally more for Shizuo and an overload of senses for Izaya when in comparison that sleep is a much-needed necessity. Just this once, they won't fight or talk or make much of it. Play against the rules like the phantoms and ghosts and anger, stress-related or not and maybe Izaya will get over this with whatever Shinra can think of, because this is only the end of the beginning.

Whatever comes, Shizuo sighs to himself. Hands warming Izaya's skin, brushing his lips against Izaya's with a skimming touch, dry and thoughtless more than anything. Izaya slides easily enough down his chest, Shizuo lying against the couch when Izaya can easily fit into his lap and does with surprising ease. There aren't any phantoms when his head rests on Shizuo's shoulder and his eyes are starting to dry up like the wet gasps in startled breaths. Evening out from his nose, Shizuo takes another kiss for the fun of it, taking the break of not thinking for a while and Izaya's actually not as evil-looking when he sleeps. Still a flea, but now even he reeks of flea. Or, really, the flea reeks of him.

A tolerable loss, then. It can be made up, especially for the stench of the apartment and the taste is even more concentrated, but warm. No phantoms no shadows no choking hold of death, company in misery. When there are knocks in the door in less than five minutes later, Shizuo maneuvers setting Izaya down, feeling his strength course beneath his fingers and buzzing when he touches the same skin. It's going to take some getting used to, whatever this is. The clock has already stopped long ago for counting down, and now it's time to start ticking forward again.

[Everything alright?] Celty cocks her head to the side, almost peering into the inside of Izaya's apartment and almost worried for Shizuo's state of mind.

Shizuo finds himself nodding, feeling the ghost of arms wrapping around his waist with Izaya creeping up behind him. "Yeah, fine."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll always miss you, Clockwork. You were one of the greatest series I've ever written, and I enjoyed this so much.
> 
> Hello, everyone. Good to see me? Perhaps. Although I give my warning now: next time I leave, it's not a joke. The first time was a prank to see how many people would miss my works, but you know me. You've all been trolled, darlings.
> 
> Happy Majora Day February 14th!
> 
> Thank you for reading.

**Author's Note:**

> I said I would get this done this week, which happens to be two months after I started this series. Now I'm beginning to regret leaving it for so long when I've been wanting to finish this for a long while.
> 
> Hint: In progress means this is not the end. See you next chapter.
> 
> Thank you for reading.


End file.
